"Of course you are, darling," purred Esme,and turned to Geraldine Julienne with a smile one mother might give another at a playground. "Carmelita has been a tomboy lately," she said, using an insulting term inflicted on girls whose behavior some people find unusual.

"I'm sure your daughter will grow out of it," Geraldine replied, who as usual was speaking into a microphone.

"Carmelita Spats is not my daughter," Esme said haughtily. "I'd no sooner have children of my own than I would wear modest clothing."

"I thought you adopted three orphans," Geraldine said.

"When it was in," Esme hurriedly added, using her usual word for "fashionable." "But orphans are out now."

"Then what's in?" asked Geraldine breathlessly.

"Planning cocktail parties in hotels, of course!" crowed Esme. "Why else would I let a ridiculous woman like yourself interview me?"

"How wonderful!" cried Geraldine, who appeared not to realize she had just been insulted. "I can see the headline now: 'ESME SQUALOR, THE MOST GLAMOROUS PERSON EVER!' Wait until the readers of The Daily Punctilio see that! When they read about your career as an actress, financial advisor, girlfriend, and cocktail party hostess, they'll get so excited that some of them will probably have heart attacks!"

"I hope so," Esme said.

"I'm sure my readers will want to know all about your stylish outfit," Geraldine said, holding her microphone under Esme's chin. "Will you tell us something about those unusual glasses you're wearing?"

"They're sunoculars," Esme said, patting her strange eyewear. "They're a combination of sunglasses and binoculars. They're very in, and this way I can watch the skies without getting the sun in my eyes-or the moon, if something should happen to arrive at night."

"Why would you want to watch the skies?" Geraldine asked curiously.

Esme frowned, and Violet could tell that the stylish woman had let something slip, a phrase which here means "said something she wished she hadn't." "Because birdwatching is very in," she said unconvincingly, a word which here means "clearly telling a lie."

"Wait until the readers of The Daily Punctilio hear that!" gasped Geraldine. "Will all the guests at your cocktail party be wearing sunoculars?"

"No matter what the guests are wearing," Esme said with a smirk, "they won't be able to see the surprises we have in store for them."

"What surprises?" Geraldine asked eagerly.

"If I told you what they were," Esme said, "they wouldn't be surprises."

"Couldn't you give me a hint?" Geraldine asked.

"No," Esme said.

"Not even a little one?" Geraldine asked.

"No," Esme said.

"Pretty please?" Geraldine whined. "Pretty please with sugar on top?"

Esme's silver-coated lips curled thoughtfully. "If I give you a hint," she said, "you'll have to tell me something, too. You're a reporter, so you know all sorts of interesting information. Before I reveal my special hors d'oeuvres for Thursday's cocktail party, I want you to tell me something about a certain guest at this hotel. He's been lurking around the basement, plotting to spoil our party. His initials are J. S."

"Lurking around the basement?" Geraldine repeated. "But J. S. is-"

"Esme!" Carmelita screamed from the swimming pool, interrupting at just the worst moment. "That concierge is just standing there, when she's supposed to be at my beck and call! She's nothing but a cakesniffer!"

Esme turned to Violet, who was used to being called a cakesniffer after all this time. "What are you waiting for?" she snarled. "Go get whatever that darling little girl wants!"

Esme twirled around and marched away, and Violet was glad to see that the villainous girlfriend's outfit had two more lettuce leaves than had been visible from the front. The eldest Baudelaire was sorry to stop performing her flaneur errands and begin her duties as a concierge, but she stepped to the edge of the swimming pool, walking carefully on the tilted roof of the hotel and peering into the clouds of steam. "What is it you want, miss?" she asked, hoping Carmelita would not recognize her voice.

"A harpoon gun, of course!" Carmelita said. "Countie said that I can't be a ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate without a harpoon gun."

"Who's Countie?" Geraldine asked.

"Esme's boyfriend," Carmelita said. "He thinks I'm the most darling, special little girl in the entire world. He said if I used my harpoon gun properly he would teach me how to spit like a real ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate!"

"I can see the headline now," Geraldine said into her microphone. "'BALLPLAYING COWBOY SUPERHERO SOLDIER PIRATE LEARNS TO SPIT.'' Wait until the readers of The Daily Punctilio see that!"

"I'll fetch you a harpoon gun, miss." Violet promised, ducking to avoid the attendant's spatula, which was overturning a sunbathing woman.

"Stop calling me 'miss,' you cakesniffer!" Carmelita said. "I'm a ballplaying cowboy superhero soldier pirate!"

Fetching objects for people who are too lazy to fetch them for themselves is never a pleasant task, particularly when the people are insulting you, but as Violet walked back to the elevator and pressed the button for it to arrive, she was not thinking about Carmelita's atrocious behavior. She was too preoccupied, a word which here means "wondering what exactly Esme Squalor and Carmelita Spats were doing at the Hotel Denouement." The two unsavory females knew full well about V.F.D. and the plans for Thursday's gathering, but the eldest Baudelaire did not believe for a minute that all they were planning was a cocktail party. As the doors slid open and Violet stepped inside, she wondered why Esme was using her sunoculars to search the skies. She wondered what Carmelita wanted with a harpoon gun. She wondered how Esme knew about the impostor J. S., who was apparently lurking around the basement of the hotel. But most of all, she wondered where Count Olaf-or, as Carmelita liked to call him, "Countie"-was hiding, and what treachery he was planning.

Violet was thinking so hard about her observations as a flaneur that it was only when the elevator doors shut that she remembered her errand as a concierge, and realized that she had no idea where to find a harpoon gun. Harpoon guns are not part of the usual equipment provided by a hotel, and the only time Violet had seen such a device was in Esme Squalor's own hands, back when she was disguised as a policewoman at the Village of Fowl Devotees. Even if the Hotel Denouement had thought to keep such a thing in the building, Violet could not imagine where she might find it in the Dewey Decimal System without a catalog. She wished Klaus were with her, as the only number of the Dewey Decimal System she knew by heart was 621, which labeled her favorite section, applied physics. With a glum sigh, the eldest Baudelaire pressed the button for the lobby.

"You're asking me for help?" cried either Frank or Ernest, when Violet managed to find him. The lobby of the Hotel Denouement was even more crowded than when the Baudelaires had arrived, and it took Violet a few minutes before she could find the familiar figure of the volunteer or his villainous brother. "I'm the one who needs help," he said. "An astonishing number of guests have arrived earlier than expected. I have no time to be a concierge helper."

"I realize that you're busy, sir," Violet said. She knew that calling a person "sir" can often help you get what you want, unless of course the person is a woman. "A guest has requested a harpoon gun, and I don't know where to find one. I wish the Hotel Denouement had a catalog."

"You shouldn't need a catalog," the manager said. "Not if you're who I think you are."

Violet gasped, and either Frank or Ernest took one step closer to her. "Are you?" he asked. "Are you who I think you are?"